


On Adrenaline

by X_The_Unicorn



Series: MCYT classical musicians au [2]
Category: Video Blogging RPF
Genre: Anyways, Cuddling, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Platonic Cuddling, author is very tired, author may or may not be projecting, bbh is a good friend, platonic relationship only, please this is so uncomfortable, why does ao3 uses real names
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-20
Updated: 2020-09-20
Packaged: 2021-03-07 16:33:54
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,673
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26560720
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/X_The_Unicorn/pseuds/X_The_Unicorn
Summary: Skeppy is stressed, tired and forgets how to take care of himself.Bad comes to the rescue.
Relationships: Skeppy & BadBoyHalo, Zak Ahmed & Darryl Noveschosch
Series: MCYT classical musicians au [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1931692
Comments: 6
Kudos: 98





	On Adrenaline

**Author's Note:**

> If I remember correctly there're a few curse words in this fic but nothing too vulgar
> 
> Bbh says language so it's cancelled out
> 
> Also, I apologise for the tags
> 
> Enjoy!

The practice room air is warm and musty. The carpet is grey from months of undermaintaining, dotted with spots that are non-descriptive, something that most students do not want to even start to think about. The default piano at the corner of each room stands silently, lid shut. The walls are slightly yellow from age, with something that looks similar to dried gum stuck onto it. The air condition unit makes loud cranky sounds every now and then, making more noises than actually doing its job.

Skeppy glances at the shut door of the practice room, the pane of glass on it slightly opaque from dust. The clock right next to the door reads 3:20pm, which means it’s been almost five hours he shut himself in here. At the moment, his instrument is leaned on his body, his arms circling the neck of it while he idly scrolls on his phone, bow on his thighs. One brief stare at the sheet music in front of him tells him that he’s far, far away from getting done.

Don’t get him wrong, Skeppy absolutely love playing the cello. He still remembers the first time he heard it on television, when he barely knew anything. The large object that people drag a stick across to make gorgeous sounds immediately set him into a dreamlike trance, and he spent hours imagining himself making those sounds with that thing too. He told his parents that he wants to play like that man on the television too, they sent him to classes, and the rest is history. His left hand fingertips are covered in calluses, and his arms are often sore from constantly pressing down strings and drawing bows. Despite that, he loves everything about being able to play it.

Suddenly, the phone in his hand vibrates, signalling the end of his break time. He sighs, and put it down, picking up his bow again. He stares blankly at his sheet music for a moment, and the compacted mass of sprout-like black notes stare right back at him.

He lifts his bow, and low, mellow notes resound in the small room once again.

* * *

Skeppy doesn’t know how long he has spent practising, but it has to be long enough that the light outside, partially blocked by curtains, have significantly dimmed down. He has made quite a bit of progress, not satisfactory to his standards yet but way better than before he started for the day. He stops himself from looking at the clock even though it’s plainly in sight, trying to encourage himself to push a bit more.

He is about to start another run of the piece before he is interrupted by a knock on his door.

Skeppy tilts his head, wondering who in the world would look for him today, when he had specifically texted everyone he knows that he will be pratising the entire day and not to disturb him. He did send some of them his practice room number though, in case any emergencies happen and they have to talk to him in person. Is it the person who manages the practice room coming to tell him that his time slot is up? He remembers booking the practice room until the latest in the day possible though, and night has clearly not fallen yet.

“Come in?” He calls out with a hint of uncertainity in his voice.

The door is pushed open, and in comes a boy with half-framed glasses, a sweet smile on his face. Skeppy feels his tensed face muscle relax into a smile, as he turns his attention back to the music. “Hey Bad!” He mumbles to his friend, who shuts the door behind him.

“Skeppy, good heavens you look worn out! How long have you been here?” Bad drops his backpack and his violin case on the table by the door and rushes to him. Skeppy dares himself to spare a glance at the clock, shocked to see that it’s almost 7pm. No wonder it’s starting to get dark outside.

“Uhh, four hours?” Skeppy says sheepishly, but Bad’s face tells him that he isn’t convinced at all.

“Don’t lie to me, Skeppy! I can see right through you!” Bad still has an easy smile on, but Skeppy involuntarily feels the hair on the back of his neck stand up. Yes, his friend slash senior of four years might be friendly and easy going most of the time, but he knows that he can’t keep anything from him.

“Alright, alright! I’ve been here since 10, okay?” He admits, and laughs a bit when he sees Bad’s face morph into a horrified one. “You muffin! Don’t you know practising for long hours can strain your body?”

“I didn’t even do it all in one go, you mother hen!” Skeppy chuckles, and a small part of him twists inside because he knows that it is the truth. He also notes that his voice sounds a bit scratchy, and he reaches for his water bottle which is half full. Damn, he really forgets to do everything when he’s too into practising.

“Come with me at this instant, we’re getting dinner!” Bad orders, crossing his arms in front of his chest.

“Fine, fine!” Skeppy agrees, and slowly settles his instrument down by the side of his chair. Having such a huge instrument is a bit of a hassle sometimes. He grabs his phone from the music stands and stands up, only to fall right back into the chair again. His vision flashes black and he sqeezes his eyes shut, as the world swirls and swivels slightly around him.

“Skeppy!” He hears Bad rush forward, “what happened?”

Skeppy opens his eyes slowly, adjusting to the light inside the room, and takes in the worried face of Bad. He almost feels bad for it. “Nothing, just haven’t stand up for a long time.”

“When did you last eat? And sleep?” Bad’s voice is stern now, and Skeppy knows, once again, he can’t hide anything from Bad. “Uhh, I skipped lunch and uhh, I slept at 6 and woke up at 9?”

“I absolutely can’t believe you, you muffinhead!” Bad scolds, but every single word is laced with concern. “This is it, we’re leaving.”

“But I booked for until 10—”

“Pack, Skeppy.” Bad’s tone leaves no space for argument.

Fine. Skeppy pouts, and reaches for his cello. Bad has stepped back to collect his own stuff by the door. It is only then when he feels the strain on his muscles from practising. His head feels heavy and he has to focus to make his hands less shaky, but even as he concentrates they shake minutely every few seconds. His back is sore, his shoulders are even stiffer than his back, and don’t even start on his arms. All in all, he feels like crap.

“Do you need help, Skep? You seem exhausted.” That’s Bad’s voice again.

“No, stay away from my instrument, Bad!” Skeppy replies, making sure everything is packed and zipped up, before standing up again and putting the music stand to the corner of the room. He ignores the way the ground sways a bit under him.

“Let’s go.” He tells Bad, switching off the air conditioning and the lights. They exit the room, and Skeppy immediately feels refreshed by the clearly fresher air in the corridors. Gosh, now that he’s out, he can’t believe he spent eight hours in that god-awful practice room. Perhaps he’s taking “practice forty hours a day” too literally.

But even forty hours isn’t enough for you, a small voice in his head tells him, and Skeppy hates that he agrees with it.

They exit the practice room building, late evening air hitting their faces. Skeppy involuntarily shivers at the cool breeze that sweeps at them all of a sudden, and feels his body sway along it for a moment. Bad who was previously walking ahead of him wordlessly turns, and take Skeppy’s bag from his hand. They start heading in a certain direction that Skeppy realises a bit too late about where they are going.

“Aren’t we going to the cafeteria, Bad?” He takes a few strides to catch up with the shorter figure.

“No, we’re going to our apartment, you’re going to wash up and I’ll cook, then you sleep.”

“But—”

“Skeppy.”

He knows it’s the end of the conversation.

* * *

Toweling his hair dry, Skeppy stretches his body a bit, wincing at the sounds of his joints cracking. He still feels lightheaded, but already better than when in the practice room. He passes by the mirror in the corridor of the apartment and winces at the heavy bags under his eyes. His usually tanned skin even looks a bit paler than usual. He turns into his room and almost whines at the sight of his bed, so wide and comfy and inviting. “Dinner’s ready!” Bad calls from the kitchen and Skeppy shouts (or at least he thinks he’s trying to shout) a reply before heading to the living room. Bad is already sitting down, two bowls settling on the table. “I made soup because I think it would be easy on your empty stomach.”

“But I’m craving for hot wings!” Skeppy says lightly, although deep inside he really appreciates Bad’s choice because he has no idea if he can stomach anything other than soup at the moment.

“Not when you haven’t eaten all day!” Bad lectures, and Skeppy just laughs as he sits down across Bad and pulls the bowl closer to himself. He scuffles down the soup, glad that the gaping hole in his stomach is finally getting filled up. Bad has to tell him to go slower multiple times.

After they put their bowls in the dishwasher, Skeppy turns to Bad. “Can we watch a movie?” He requests, and Bad frowns at the question. “I’d prefer you go to sleep now,” he answers, and Skeppy immediately tries to put on his best beaten puppy face. “Pretty please~” He pouts, trying to keep himself from bursting into laughter as Bad’s face scrunches up. “Fine! But it’s only because that face is annoying!” He finally says.

They pick out a random movie and settle into the couch. The movie starts, and Skeppy unconsciously leans towards Bad’s body, enjoying the extra body warmth. Now that Skeppy is finally relaxing properly, he can feel how tight his neck and shoulders are. He holds a hand up to his neck and twists it left and right, wincing at the strain.

“I told ya.” Bad mumbles from beside him, sipping from a cup of hot chocolate. Skeppy wants to argue back, but he suddenly can’t find his voice. Bad settles his cup down and turns to him.

“Let me help with those muscles.” After a nod, Bad raises his hands to Skeppy’s shoulders and starts massaging them gently. The relief is sweet and instantaneous. Bad’s hands are very warm, part from the remaining warmth of the cup and his own body heat. He relaxes further into the touch, eyes slipping close.

“I have a recital next week.” Skeppy doesn’t know why he starts to talk, but he finds out that he can’t stop once he started. “I chose this piece because it sounds easy but when I saw the sheets I was like oh holy shit—”

“Language.” Bad’s voice is soft, and he can hear the smile in his voice.

“ –the music is so hard. But I have already filled in the forms of what I want to play so I can’t back out, but I’m so intimidated by the sheet music I didn’t start to practice right away, that happened last week by the way.” He pauses to breathe, feeling a small lump in his throat. Bad’s hands are still massaging his shoulders.

“So I tell myself I’ll start practising during the weekend, so here I am, and Bad, oh my gosh, I have a presentation due for next week too, I don’t know why they grade us on a presentation, we’re musical performance majors for godness sake! I mean, I got this guy called Nick as a groupmate and he seems pretty cold, yesterday we were supposed to meet up and discuss it over dinner but he said he has to accompany someone else so he couldn’t come, and now I have no idea if he actually has a gig or he just doesn’t want to talk to me—”

“But why would people not want to talk to you, Skeppy?”

“—I don’t know, Bad! There’s just this feeling that he’s lying, and it’s probably just me overthinking again. Anyways there’s this presentation, and then there’s the recital which I’m definitely not prepare for and oh my fucking God—don’t language me Bad—I started researching for the presentation and preparing for practice last night and oh my, there’re so many things to split up between us, what if Nick freeloads and I have to do everything and if I mess up this recital—” He’s gasping for breath now, and Bad’s hands has stopped massaging his back and instead snake around his torso in a comforting spoon. He’s aware that he’s just rambling, but the words are coming faster and faster.

“—What if I fail and lose the scholarship and I can’t afford music college anymore and I’m just out there being useless, I’m not good enough, I can’t get a gig, I’ll rot on a street alone? What if my parents think I’m a failure and they disown me because I can’t do well in college, and everyone I love leaves me because they think I’m annoying and hard to put up with because I’m so loud and obnoxious and noisy like that one time—”

“Skep—"

“How am I going to fend for myself? How do I do this? Bad I can’t do this anymore I’m so tired I feel like a burden and I’m not sure if the decision to come here is right—”

“Skeppy.” Bad’s voice breaks him out of the ramble and he realises that his face is wet. He breathes in, only to choke on a sob. Bad’s arms squeezes him tighter.

“You’re never, ever a burden. You’re annoying sometimes, yes, but that’s what we love about you. You’re talented, and you can do this, and even if no one believes that you can do it, I do.”

“Even when I myself don’t believe it?”

“I’ll always believe in you.”

Skeppy abruptly turns to Bad and hugs him, burying his face into his hoodie and cries. Bad hugs him back, whispering assurances into his ears, gently massaging his scalp with his fingers. Gradually, the sobs of the younger calms down, but Skeppy doesn’t remove himself from the embrace. Bad continues to rub circles into Skeppy’s back, as he feels his breathes slowing and even out.

The hot chocolate and movie sit at the background, long forgotten.

“Skeppy?” Bad whispers. There is no response.

Bad sighs. It seems like Skeppy has finally given into his exhaustion. He wants to wake Skeppy up and ask him to go to bed, but one look at his face tells him that he can’t get himself to do that. His eyelashes are wet and his nose is slightly red, but other than that he seems peaceful and completely relaxed. He slowly withdraws an arm away from around Skeppy, then eases him down to a lying position. The younger shifts slightly, but shows no sign of waking up.

Technically, Bad can just go to his own room, but he highly doubts that Skeppy wants to be left alone at the moment. So instead, he lies down beside him, trying to get himself settled down. The couch is a bit tight of space with both of them lying down, but the younger seems comfortable enough. He wrapped an arm around Skeppy, smiling a bit as he feels him snuggling closer.

With a free hand, he grabs the remote control and switches off the television.

They can spend just one night on the couch.

**Author's Note:**

> Extra:
> 
> “Bad so it turns out Nick was actually accompanying on the weekend!”
> 
> “I know, Skeppy. He told me that we couldn’t practice together the day before.”
> 
> “Wait, you know Nick? As in Sapnap?”
> 
> “He’s my neighbour and childhood friend, we literally play together sometimes!”
> 
> “YOU DIDN’T TELL ME ANYTHING ABOUT THAT, BAD!!!”
> 
> ........................
> 
> I wanted to use real names but it sounds too personal and feels uncomfortable so yeah, nicknames
> 
> Skephalo shipping is all funs and games until you realise they are four years apart (JUST KIDDING: I do not ship them)
> 
> I'm not sure if starting a series is a good idea ngl I really don't know much about music college and I acquire all my knowledge from Twoset (spot the reference in the fic!) and other music uni vlogs
> 
> I also have plans of writing about people in an actual professional orchestra but I'm kinda scared bcs I know about that even lesser than music college
> 
> I played the cello for a while so I'm aware of how the calluses and muscle strains feels like. While playing it is an 1000/10 experience, I rate the technical injuries a -1/10 please stretch and warm up before practising
> 
> Also important psa to all instrument players out there: Please do not practise for long periods of time so that you don't overexert your body! Practice is important but your body is more important!
> 
> I'm not happy with the amount and intensity of the comfort in this fic, but I kinda ran out of steam at the end and also I haven't eaten dinner so I can't think lmao
> 
> Nevertheless, thanks for reading :)


End file.
